


Variantale: Snowfall, Chapter 4

by TychoAzrephet



Series: Variantale [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Broken Bones, Internal Conflict, Magic-Users, Major Character Injury, Multi, Possession, Slow Build, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 08:43:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10760718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TychoAzrephet/pseuds/TychoAzrephet
Summary: In the midst of a fierce battle between Sans and Frisk, the human loses control of the writhing spirit in their soul and Chara takes control, now we've got a real rematch. It might seem bad, but its going to even worse for both parties in due time...





	Variantale: Snowfall, Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! Chapter four and things are really starting to ramp up! I'm excited to finally introduce Chara into the mix and get some more intense conflict going on. Also if you haven't picked up on it at this point. I really have no idea else to write in these notes. Commenting on my own stories is weirdly more difficult than writing them. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, stay tuned for future chapters. :3
> 
> -Tycho

Frisk’s heart seized in their chest as an almost entirely translucent, gaunt apparition materialized in the air before them, the body of a diminutive female child enshrouded in blood red magic. A once pristine green and yellow stripped shirt was coated in chalky white dust, long brown hair hanging down to obscure her face, Frisk began to tremble as the figure slowly raised her head to look down at them. Her eyes were a bright hazel with violently red pupils, set above rosey cheeks and a disturbingly wide smile, a grin that stretched inhumanly further as she stared into Frisks terrified gaze. The phantom slowly extended her hand towards Frisk’s chest, only to have them flinch away and cover their soul defensively, gritting their teeth and exerting a gesture of will that caused the ghost to flicker and almost dissipate completely. 

Sans warped within inches of Frisk and the fading spirit, leaning forward on his toes and leering fiendishly, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Ahem, far be it from me to interrupt this...uh...identity crisis of yours, but I’d like to get our lil’ shindig back on track soooo...” Sans said merrily, letting his last syllable drag on and hang as he discreetly targeted Frisk’s tumultuous soul, his own soul glowing deep blue as he conjured the corresponding spell. Frisk’s eyes narrowed and flicked back and forth between the manic skeleton and the bloodied shade, finding both of their massive grins unnervingly similar, springing backwards in an effort to distance themselves from both threats. Before their feet could even alight back onto the snow, Sans whipped his left hand out towards the towering wall, sending Frisk sailing through the air to crash bodily against the unyielding bones. Frisk gritted their teeth in pain as they bounced off the sheer surface, feeling their spine buckle under the impact, collapsing into the snow just as a squad of blasters materialized to bear down on them. Frisk scrabbled their hands against the bone to steady themselves, bracing a foot against the wall and diving out of the line of fire with barely a second to spare, their clothing singed by the residual heat from four concentrated blasts. As they landed atop another snow drift, Frisk gasped in agony as a burst of sharp pain spread from their backbone over their entire body, leaving them shivering and practically immobilized. Sans and the disembodied entity watched the human wracked in pain with polarized reactions, a hollow approximation of concern crossing over the ghosts normally euphoric face, while Sans’ twisted grin and hollow eyes remained fixed in grim satisfaction. He slowly turned his skull to look at the hovering spirit, flashing her a taunting wink as he summoned a wave a bones and held them ready, casually adjusting his aim as Frisk lurched feebly away from the pile of snow. 

“Five seconds.” he said offhandedly, tilting his skull and conjuring a second wave of bones as the enshrouded child blinked in momentary confusion, her blood red eyes widening in realization as she willed herself through the air towards Frisk’s trembling form. 

“Four.” 

The phantom drifted above Frisk and clenched her translucent hands worriedly, moving closer and trying to heal the fracture along their back, but the sanguine magic only seemed to agitate the injury. She grimaced and grasped Frisk’s shoulders, trying uselessly to shake them into getting up, to face the impending barrage of attacks.

“Three.”

Frisk laid almost totally motionless in the ravaged frost, barely able to squirm along the frozen dirt towards the wall of bone only feet away, eyes dully fixated on the buried handle of their weapon. They hardly noticed the presence of their incorporeal companion, until they felt her magic straining against their soul, that distorted voice ringing in their ears with an unusual level of...anxiety. “Frisk...please, you have to stay determined...“ 

“Two.”

Desperation welled up inside Frisk’s soul, desperation belonging to the ghostly child that had followed them for so many years, always urging them on and manipulating their actions. They didn’t have to look to know Sans was preparing a massive attack, magical energy charging the frigid air to a cobalt hue, even the puny puffs of steam from their breath had turned a deep blue. Frisk didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to face Sans yet again knowing they stood no chance of defeating him or escaping, the futile sense of defeat that overcame them was followed by a strange clarity. This must be what Sans had felt like, facing them so many lifetimes ago. No wonder he gave up, Frisk thought with an exhausted chuckle. 

“One...” 

As Frisk felt themselves beginning to slip, the sensation of falling down came over them as the grasp on their soul faltered...only to be seized by a sudden and starving strength. Frisk’s body contorted in agony as they felt the ghastly consciousness force herself through their form, it felt as though turgid hands were wresting their soul away from them, the ghost growing more corporeal as Frisk lost their tangelity. Without the will or endurance to resist, Frisk could only watch as they were excruciatingly peeled away from their own soul, hovering above their seizing body as a powerless shade. A virulent crimson aura enveloped the crippled human form, seeping into skin and burying itself into bone, usurping and dominating the the weakened soul before it could break. The violent spasms stopped abruptly as the blood red energy fully absorbed into it’s new host, Frisk felt a chill ripple over their ghostly essence as they watched their lost body slowly climb to its feet to stand totally still, seemingly unfazed by the sickening displacement of their vertebrae. Frisk turned their new intangible form with great difficulty, bleak eyes widening as they saw the overwhelming scope of Sans’ attack, thousands of bones hung suspended in midair pointed directly at the motionless human figure. Sans stood with his left hand raised in preparation, the other shoved in the pocket of his jacket, both of his eye sockets ablaze with haunting blue light. A single bead of sweat rolled down his skull as he caught sight of Frisk, immediately recognizing them as a disembodied spirit, the skeletons already grotesque smile growing to consume almost his entire face. With a deliberate flourish and a tilt of his skull, Sans whipped his arm downwards and unleashed the armada of bones, a veritable hail of attacks plummeting downwards and racing across the snow covered ground towards the awaiting humanoid silhouette.    

“Zero.” 

A torrential deluge of bones descended upon Frisk’s body, fluctuating through the snow drifts in spiking waves, an onslaught no one could hope to avoid. Instead, the possessed human shell lunged forward and wrapped its hands around the knife handle, ripping the blade effortlessly from the wall of bone and whipping around to slice clean through the first line of projectiles. The attacks fizzled out of existence, only to be followed by an identical wave, supplemented by the racing ground attacks. The human’s hands became a blur, knife flashing and whirling in a frightening display of dexterity, cleaving down dozens of bones as hundreds more were deflected into the wall to it’s back. Sans stood and watched the human fervently as they held their ground against his seemingly endless stream of attacks, noting every twist of their wrist and flick of their arm, their posture and movements starkly contrasted to Frisk’s. After a few minutes of studying their defenses, Sans exhaled slowly and dispelled the magical assault, the waves of bones slumping as their momentum turned to inert powder. The two opponents stared at each other evenly in the aftermath, Sans grinning and slouched in his deliberate effort to appear relaxed, the human twitching and matching the skeletons gruesome smile. Half the field was embedded with bones that missed or had been knocked away, turning the once quaint winter landscape gaunt and desolate, silence settling over all three figures as anticipation mounted. Frisk’s ghostly shade could only watch helplessly as Sans faced down their former body, conflicting emotions agitating their fleeting form, torn between which equally galling adversary they would rather see triumph. 

Sans decided to break the vacuum by clapping his hands together slowly, the sarcastic, dry echo of bone against bone carrying easily across the battleground. He started to walk forward at a leisurely pace, sandals crunching through the snow and crushing fallen attacks, flashing a patronizing grin at the ghastly human as they quietly awaited his approach. “Wow. I mean, just...wow. Seriously kid, I’m impressed you held out against that lil’ bonestorm, I was dangerously close to ten percent effort there.” he said, chuckling hollowly and coming to a stop some twenty feet away from the human, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning forward on his toes. Sans looked the silent human up and down, tilting his skull slightly as he feigned examination, his pupils flashing briefly at the sight of the impossibly cartoonish grin stretched between their ears. “Ya know, there’s somethin’...different about ya kid...you’re looking a lot more up to this whole thing. ‘Few minutes ago, you were practically climbing into your own coffin. I wonder...” the skeleton adopted an exaggeratedly contemplative expression, pupils momentarily zipping over to glance at the translucent shape of Frisk floating meters away, his smile ticking wider as his gaze flicked back to the animate human body. “Ah, so that’s it, huh? Lemme guess...you must be...Chara, right? Ol’ King Floppy Ears’ lil’ girl?” he asked with a facsimile of innocent speculation, a flair of satisfaction in his soul as the human’s sadistic grin faded marginally, what might have been surprise sparking deep within their blood red eyes. Sans smirked and decided to press his advantage, leaning back and shrugging nonchalantly, absently watching a snowflake as it was batted by a wisp of wind. “You’d think that old goat woulda learned his lesson, ya know, with the whole humans slaughtering monsters and forcing them to live in a glorified hole in the ground thing. Not exactly the best credentials for an adopted royal brat, in my humble opinion.” he continued casually, able to sense the fury sharply mounting within Chara’s corrupted soul, unable to suppress a snicker of amusement as he watched her once unnerving smile shrink further. The skeleton took a half step forward and extended his right hand genially, treating her to the warmest grin he could manage, coming off as colder than the ice beneath their feet. “But hey, where are my manners? I don’t believe we’ve ever been...properly introduced. The name’s Sans. Sans the Skele-WOAH!” 

Sans reared backwards and snatched his hand away as Chara lunged towards him, her eyes blazing crimson in rage as she dashed across the ice between them, slashing at the skeletons throat as he barely managed to teleport out of harm’s way. Chara growled in annoyance and slashed again at Sans’ chest, anticipating his maneuver to blink directly behind her, pivoting with lighting speed and ramming the hilt of her knife into the skeletons face. Sans’ skull was wrenched backwards by the impact, sending him stumbling to collapse into a snowdrift, his left hand snapping upwards reflexively to summon a ring of blue bones around Chara. The human skidded to a halt, her face inches from the glowing perimeter of attacks, expression twisting into a grimace of irritation. She watched Sans slowly climb to his feet, one hand clutching his eye socket, the other clenched into a trembling fist at his side. “Huh...guess I struck a bit of a nerve there, eh?” Sans asked quietly, his voice a pained whisper underneath his breath, fingers gripping tightly at his ocular injury.

Chara, despite her predicament, allowed her signature absurd grin to return as she let out a sadistic giggle. “Nah, I was just getting sick of hearing you drone on, you were always better at actually being  trash than trash talking Sans.” She replied sharply, tapping the tip of her knife against the nearest stalwart attack arrhythmically, a dissonant sound that helped her stay relaxed. To her surprise, Sans let out a genuine laugh at her insult, dropping his hand and lifting his skull to hold her malevolent glare. The skeletons face was marred by a series of spiderweb cracks below his left eye socket, deep fractures stretching to just above his cheekbone, accenting his hideously labored smile. 

“Ha...hahaha...yeah, ya got me there, sweetheart. Back in the day...I was a champion of feeling sorry for myself, wasn’t I? A master in the art of bemoaning my own fate, an aficionado of embodying miserable garbage.” Sans said, his voice filled with mirth and casual good humor, as if he was sharing an in joke with a close friend. Chara stopped her tapping and beheld the skeletons attitude warily, the attempt at self-deprecation had to be a ploy, a tactic to put her off guard. Maybe Frisk would’ve fallen for a ruse like that, but Chara had no intention of being manipulated. Especially not by Sans. 

“Oh boo hoo, expecting sympathy for pointing out the obvious? Give me a break. You’re a born loser Sans, always have been, always will be. Drop these bones and I’ll prove it.” Chara challenged with a deliberate flip of her knife, the buzzing cobalt light of the attacks flashing briefly along the length of her blade, hauntingly illuminating her demonic grin. Sans stood still and silent, his expression unreadable and his eye sockets empty, displaying a fathomless dark within the skeletons skull. With a shrug, Sans snapped his fingers and the circle of bones dissipated, somewhat to Charas surprise. Furthering her confusion, Sans pulled his arms from his sleeves and started to remove his jacket, something the human had never seen him do in all the uncountable times they’d fought. Chara refused to show show any degree of unease however, letting out a harsh peel of laughter, the sound comparable to mutilated violin strings. “Oooooo, the jacket’s coming off, guess we’re getting serious now hmmm? Please, if this is your attempt to be intimidating, I feel even sorrier for you than I already did. What do you plan on throwing at me, Sans? Bones? Blue attacks? Those dinky little Blasters? I’ve seen everything you’ve got, remember? There’s nothing I can’t handle...nothing I can’t cut my way through.” Chara declared mockingly, crossing the edge of her knife over her own chest, a deliberate pantomime of Sans’ historical killing blow. 

The skeleton didn’t respond, simply pulling the jacket free of his skull, carefully folding the garment and laying it aside atop a convenient pile of snow. Underneath his trademark attire, Sans was clad in a vibrantly red t-shirt, the neon yellow lettering emblazoned on the front reading: “EAT @ GRILLBY’S!” Set below the commercial slogan was the crudely drawn image of a fire monster dressed as a bartender, it’s arm extended out in a thumbs up, beaming proudly behind a small set of eyeglasses. It was a strangely comical contrast to Sans’ imposing visage, yet somehow did very little to lessen the skeletons menacing nature. His arms were bare, evidence of old fractures visible down the length of the ulna and radius, his palms and knuckles beaten and mildly scorched from years of magic use. Sans gripped the sides of his skull and cracked the vertebrae of his neck one by one, the sound of each pop causing Chara’s smile to tighten, her cruel bravado weakening slightly at the sight of the skeletons calm demeanor. Sans squared his shoulders and rolled his skull, summoning a single bone into his left hand, looking at Chara with a smile of chilling stoicism. 

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Chara. Every life you’ve taken, every time that knife ripped through my soul, every solitary reset. I remember it all...and ya know what? It’s made me realize something...I’ve been a coward my whole life. Sitting idly by, watching you two tear this world apart again and again, only stepping in when there was no one else left to do things for me. Even then, what did I do? Stand in one spot in the middle of a big open hallway, hurling wave after wave of attacks, dodging only when you swung. Amidst a battle for my own life and the fate of the entire world...I barely moved a couple a’ fucking inches.” he said, his words deceptively flat and clipped, the wounded undertone in his voice worming doubts into Chara’s mind. He let out a crazed, sorrowful laugh, the subdued cackling somehow far more disturbing than the humans shrieking giggles. Sans hefted the bone easily and twirled it around his fingers, both of his eye sockets aglow with a piercing blue aura, his ever present grin set with a grim resolution as the skeleton settled into an attack stance. “Well, not anymore, I’m putting my all into it this time. You’re about to see me at a’ hundred percent, darlin’.” Sans said, flexing his fingers and shifting his weight to stand lighter on his feet, magic curling down the length of his arms and lower legs. “Ya know, whether I live or die...doesn’t particularly matter to me at this point. Right now, the only thing that’s really important...” he continued, letting his sentence hang as a single gust of frigid wind blew its way between the two adversaries, silence reigning over the brutalized landscape. Without warning, Sans teleported within inches of Chara’s face, the human forced to stare directly into the Void that yawned endlessly behind the skeletons eye sockets. For that brief, shocking moment, she remembered the existential horror that grips one immediately before death.  

“...i s t h a t y o u a r e n o t l e a v i n g t h i s f i e l d a l i v e.”


End file.
